Song of the Open Road
by jayne-190
Summary: Bosco heads out on the open road and lets circumstance dictate where he goes. For him, its not only a vacation, but also a journey of selfdiscovery.
1. Chapter 1

_Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,_

_Healthy, free, the world before me,_

_The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose_.

He stared out at the sky before him. It was rather early, the sun barely peaking its rays from beyond the edge of the eastern horizon. He could feel the warmth of the coffee coming through his coffee cup and see his icy breath; the morning had that had greeted him had the January bite that it usually had.

As he thought about it, it had been a year since he had been discharged from the hospital. When he had told Faith that he was going on a vacation, she had asked him where he was going. He was quiet for a moment before he answered.

"Honestly, Faith, I don't know."

"Will you at least keep me informed of where you are?"

"Why do you want to know, Faith?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I'm worried, Bosco."

"Why are you worried?"

She was quiet for a moment, knowing what she really wanted to say, but really couldn't say. "I dunno; I just am."

He swallowed, thinking what to say next. "Yeah, I'll let you know." It was the least he could do.

_Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,_

_Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,_

_Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,_

_Strong and content I travel the open road_.

He took one last drink from the warm coffee before he turned over his Mustang. This would be the last he would see of his neighbourhood in New York, not that it was anything special.

He could see the lights being turned on in the various windows; people were getting up, getting ready for the day, for their lives. There were a few people out and about: people coming back from the graveyard shift, people going to an early morning meeting or to meeting friends for coffee or breakfast. There were teenagers making their way to the subway, making sure that they were going to be on time for school: probably they had some activity that met early in the morning or maybe they were going to get extra help on an assignment from a teacher.

He needed to go, go before he would start to question why he was even doing what he was doing. He was going to allow circumstance dictate where he went and how far he went. Season would also dictate where he went and hopefully by time spring came he would be back home.

Armed with his laptop and digital camera, he could let people know where he was; show the sights and people he encountered.

He moved his car out of park and into gear and headed out, without a whimper. He would let his good-fortune dictate where his head landed, what he learned, what he experienced.

_The earth, that is sufficient,_

_I do not want the constellations any nearer,_

_I know they are very well where they are,_

_I know they suffice for those who belong to me_.

He drove to the corner of King and Arthur, the place where he had worked for over a decade, the place where he had honed his skills as a cop, the place where he and Faith had become friends and enemies, the place where he had trusted so many, the place where he had found out about the fate of Mikey.

The precinct house was now a shell of it's former self. He could see where the front desk once proudly stood, where the roll call room used to be, where he entered on a weekly basis. As he moved through out the building, he could see where the detectives once worked, where the captains and lieutenants once worked from, where they used to line up to get their radios, where they once got ready and joked and got a glimpse into each other's lives.

He could see Davis' tall form entering the locker room, as he talked about his latest girlfriend or some beef he had with his mom; Sully was sitting on the bench trying not laugh too much at Davis' complaints; Faith was getting ready, her blond hair swept up to the nape of her neck; Sasha trying to calm everybody, being the sensible one; Finney uttering a stupid joke; him doing his yoga stretches or fixing his gun belt so that it rested on his hips just right; Swersky coming in to announce that roll call was in a few minutes.

They were memories that belong to him and others, despite the smell of burnt wood, metal and cotton that still lingered seven months later. He could Christopher yelling at him to get his ass into roll call or he would get another CD in his jacket.

_(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,_

_I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,_

_I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,_

_I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)_

As he walked back out of the burnt out building, the building that held so many memories, both good and bad, he could hear in the distance the sound of Swersky giving out his usual quote at the end of each briefing "Eyes and ears out there."

He thought he could hear a telephone ringing at the front desk, Jelly's voice complaining about the lack of coffee available, Sully giving out his legendary grunt, Davis' laugh, or Cruz yelling at one of her many minions that worked for her and Manny calming her down (finally there had been someone who could work with her and make her bearable).

As he left the building for probably the final time ever, he left behind a multitude of memories that would not ever be replaced. It was time to start his journey, his journey of self-discovery. He planned on heading for Florida first, hoping to catch some sunshine and warmth and maybe eventually heading to Southern California and the famous beaches of Malibu.

The open road was going to be a journey of self-discovery and however hard it would be; it would hopefully be worth it. He hoped that the burdens of the past would be kicked aside and that he could move on. Only the road would tell him and only time would tell.


	2. Chapter 2

_You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,_

_I believe that much unseen is also here_.

He got into his car and went through the glove compartment, making sure he had the map of the US safely tucked away. He looked at the map. There were so many places he wanted to visit; places he hoped to visit. But there were a few areas he planned on hitting: Atlantic City (for the trip he promised Mikey), Miami, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Elsewhere he didn't know where he might be.

His ma had been concerned but he was anything but concerned as to what would happen in the end. He had to do this now; when he felt the urge to go and do it.

He looked around. The city was opening up for business, but when did the city ever completely close? Never. It was the city that never went to sleep; the city that kept on going despite whatever it was handed. It was a city that he knew everything about, or seemed to know about.

As he made sure that he had everything he needed for his unplanned trip, he noticed a book. Curious as to what it was, he picked up. Looking at the cover, he could tell it was a copy of Walt Whitman's poems (the title of the book gave away the photograph). Opening up the book, he wondered who would do such a thing; he never read anything more than an issue of Sports Illustrated or the occasional book related to criminal investigation or a Tom Clancy novel. There was nothing deep or meaningful about the stuff he usually read.

He set the book down on the passenger's seat; maybe he would look at it later, when things calmed down a bit. He glanced around the street. A few of the paramedics and firefighters he used to work with on a daily basis were starting to filter in. He wanted to get out of the area before he was recognized; the last thing he wanted to was to chat and delay his trip further.

Starting his car and pulling away from the curb, he knew he was entering upon an unseen adventure: the road being his canvas, his piece of art. He could choose to meld it into anything he wanted it to be.

As he drove down the familiar streets and bridges, a small sigh of relief came through his body, almost as if he knew something had to happen before he came back to the city. He needed to get away. He had said his goodbyes during the last few days, trying to reassure everybody that he would be okay.

The busy streets gave way to quiet streets, filled with nice homes, toys on the front lawns, cars parked in the driveways, eventually giving way New Jersey Turnpike, zooming by the countryside, or what one would consider the countryside on the Turnpike. As he got nearer to Atlantic City, he considered going down to Cape May, instead of going to gamble. But he had promised Mikey he would. And a promise was a promise.

As he entered the vicinity, his stomach started to feel funny, almost as if he wasn't supposed to be there. He parked his car in front of the boardwalk.

He had only been on the road for a few hours and already he was itching to go and drive some more. But he was only going to spend an hour or two here and then he was going to head out.

As he opened the car door, he could feel the bitter cold against his exposed skin. He knew it was going to be a cold day when he woke up, but it hadn't been this cold back home. Here he could feel the bitter cold of the Atlantic grip his cheek, the smell the salt coming off the ocean. He wondered if he was doing the right thing.

As he leaned against the open car door, he caught himself thinking how much more enjoyable this would be if Mikey were here. But he thought what the heck and went in.

Glancing around the room, he could see that there weren't that many people there; it was after all the middle of the week and early in the afternoon. He aimlessly wandered around the room, wondering what would catch his eye. Finally, he decided to go to the back and to the bar. It was the only place that he would feel the most comfortable.

After ordering a beer and taking a sip, the bartender decided to ask him what he was doing in Atlantic City during this time of the year. Clearly it wasn't the weather.

"I'm on a trip." It was the truth; he was on a trip, but he didn't know where he was going or how long it was going to take him, but he knew that he wanted to be at home in time for the second anniversary of his brother's death, that much was expected of him. He had all the time in the world, but money would dictate how long he could stay out on the road.

"Where to?" He knew from experience that bartenders were naturally curious about the people he met.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Surely you know where you are going."

"I really don't know." He twirled his fingers around the glass. "I'm just going where the winds take me."

They were quiet for a moment.

"You know that sounds like a book my oldest daughter read in college; she said it was about this guy who goes on a journey across the United States several times and in the end decides to stay home. She said it was called 'The Open Road.' You should read it sometime."

He could only smile at the suggestion. After paying his bar tab, he made his way over to the blackjack table. He would play a few hands and then leave, not intending on staying too long. But for whatever reason a few hands became five and he was able get a couple hundred bucks out of it. It was like that Kenny Rogers' song, he knew when to walk away from the table and not play anymore than he wanted to. It would certainly help out with expenses, especially with the price of gas nowadays.

_Here the profound less of reception, not preference nor denial,_

_The black with his wolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate person, are not denied;_

_The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,_

_The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,_

_The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,_

_They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,_

_None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me._

He made his way out of the casino and down the boardwalk, in hopes of finding a diner and some lunch. There wasn't much, but eventually he found something. Sitting down in a booth along the windows, he looked at the menu the waitress had placed in front of him.

The words seemed blur in together, nothing seemed to make sense. It was a lot like his life; blurred and messed and not making sense. His life had never made sense. According to his dad, he had been a failure, a miserable failure.

He looked out the window. A guy passed by the diner, looking like he had had a few too many. Memories came back to him; it was an all to familiar sight that he had seen on too many times play out as his own father had come home after one too many.

The bell on the door rung; his head turned from the window to see a young couple come through. They looked happy, smiling and laughing at each other. They were dressed up, almost as if they had just come in from getting married. The woman stood up on her toes and kissed the guy, not really caring who was looking at them or thought of them.

Bosco quickly turned to look out the window. Not finding anything particularly amusing in what was going on outside, he turned to the menu that was in front of him. All he knew of what was going on outside was that people were passing the diner, going from one gambling house to another.

After quickly downing his cheeseburger and fries and placing some cash for the meal, he quickly made his way through the cold air and to the warmth of his car. Turning on his car, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove along the Atlantic City Expressway. He noticed that his gas gauge was getting lower and started to wonder if he would get out of Jersey before night fell. Quickly scanning the road for a sign, he found one and pulled off.

After putting in the gas needed, he quickly took out his map, well one of his many maps. He knew that he could go Philadelphia, but that he could go into Wilmington. Having been a fan of the Rocky movies, he knew the next move was to go to Philadelphia. Wilmington could wait for a few hours.


	3. Chapter 3

_You air that serves me with breath to speak!_

_You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!_

_You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!_

_You paths worn in irregular hollows by the roadsides!_

_I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me._

The light streamed into his motel room. He had left the curtain partially open, allowing the lights of the street to come in.

Bosco had never been a fan of the dark, ever since he had been a kid. The light from the parking lot had served to be his "night light", not sure why he hadn't brought his own. Maybe he thought he would forget it somewhere along the way.

He got up from his bed and made his way into the bathroom and quickly took a shower. As he washed his body, he started to wash away all the hurt that had been deflected towards him and everything that he had experienced since he had gotten out of the hospital a year ago.

After quickly getting dressed, he made his way out of the room and down to the office to pay for his room. He knew that it wouldn't be much, as he had tried to find the cheapest motel that was available. Fortunately for him, there were plenty of rooms for his taking. Guess not a lot of people came to Philadelphia during the middle of January.

It looked to be a nice city, but it wasn't New York, it wasn't home. Making his way down to the Philly PD Headquarters, he wondered if he should consider such a move. It would be drastic that's for sure, away from his ma, away from his friends, and would probably mean to start all over again.

He turned his car around, looking for the nearest entrance onto I-95 South. Either due to the fact that he really didn't care or just didn't pay attention, he somehow made his way down to the Delaware River. Parking his car in a nearby parking lot, he stepped out and breathed in the mid-morning air. There was certain sharpness that greeted him as he stepped out of the car. Standing out at the edge of the river, he looked at the river. There was a ship coming in, piled with something on its decks, coming from some place in the world. The sharpness could be felt on his cheek, his NYPD toque pulled down over his ears and to just at the top of his eyebrows. He knew he was asking for it, wearing a NYPD issue toque in Philadelphia, but he could careless.

Not wanting to stand there too long, he made his way to the relative warmth of his car and turned over the engine and made his way to the nearest entrance. Unfortunately, his stomach wanted to have something inside of it, but he didn't care and made his way to Wilmington.

The drive went by fast to Wilmington, too fast, if you asked him later. He got out at a truck stop just outside of the city, wanting to have his food as cheaply as he possibly could as he wanted to have as much money as possible while on the trip, hoping not to force him to take some work along the way, which he knew that he probably he would have to do. It was that or come home earlier than he wanted to. It was here he examined the many maps he had bought before he had left the city. He didn't want to seem as though he were unprepared.

As he ate his meal, he examined the map book of the United States. He knew that if he stayed on the road for as long as he could today, he would be somewhere in Virginia. With his luck he probably would be in the middle of nowhere, probably with Carlos' in-laws. He knew somewhere he had an address for the place that Holly's parents called home.

When he had mentioned the possibility of going on such a trip to Davis around Christmas, Davis had managed to get the address and phone number of Holly's folks from Carlos. He had then phoned her parents a few days ago, asking if was okay if he could stop by for a night or two. Her mom had been more than willing to take in one of Holly's friends. In fact, she asked if he wanted to stay longer than that, but he managed to tell her that it would only be for a night or two. According to Carlos, they were very different from Holly.

After paying for his meal and gassing up his car, he headed back on the road. Where he was headed, he still did not know when, or if, he would ever be back to this portion of the country. Leaving the northeast behind, he headed down I-95.

_You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!_

_You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!_

_You rows of house! you window-pierc'd facades! you roofs!_

_You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!_

_You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!_

It was dark by the time he came Holly's parent's place. He had phoned ahead and let them know he was on his way and that he would be there for night once he had hit Washington, DC, where he had stopped for dinner, however short it was.

As he stared out his front window, he was amazed at the beauty of the US Capitol, all lit up. It truly was an amazing site, something he had never seen before. Faith would have probably enjoyed and forced him to take a photo. Pulling over to the side of road at a safe spot, he grabbed his camera and took a shot. It was one that he would likely to email to his friends back home, showing them what they were missing.

After taking a snapshot, moved back into traffic, continuing on his way to place he hoped to hang his hat for a night or two. He made then correct turn offs and found himself going down some country road. Carlos wasn't joking when he said that Holly some sort country bumpkin who had made her way to the city.

He for sure hadn't ever visited such a place that was so quiet, other than the cabin that Sully had been detoxed at. But this was a little better; at least the road was paved. Turning into a driveway, he could see the faint lights coming from the house. Somebody was up. Suddenly he was overcome by a sense of dread, almost as though he wasn't welcomed here. But he knew that he was more than welcomed.

He turned off the car and made his way out into the cool night air. Even though it was only about 8:30, it was pitch black. He had no sense of actually how far he was from the highway, but he knew that if he could get a few free nights of accommodation, it would certainly help the pocketbook in the long run. Even the food that was going to be provided would probably be good on the pocketbook.

Standing outside on the porch, he couldn't help but notice how similar it was to his mom's place back in Queen's.

The door opened and Mr. Benjamin ushered him inside. It was homey and welcoming, sort of what his mom's place felt. It was different, that's for sure, but it felt like home. As he sat down to the amazing spread that Mrs. Benjamin had prepared. He defiantly could see some of Holly in her mom.

"So what happened to you?" Obviously Mr. Benjamin was curious about his bandage

"What?"

"Your bandage. What happened?" He asked again as he put some of the food in his mouth.

"I got shot."

"Oh, what happened? Holly said there were some masked men who came and shot up the hospital one day while she was there."

"That's pretty much what happened, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am; makes me feel old."

The scrapping of plates could only be heard for a few moments.

"So where are you from, Mr. Boscorelli? That is your name, right?"

"Queens; please call me Bosco."

"Queens, that's in New York, right?"

Bosco stuffed some more of his food into his mouth. "Yep, born and bred."

"Any siblings?"

"A brother."

"And what does he do? I suppose he's a cop, too, right?"

Bosco put down his fork and knife and laid them in his plate. "Uh, no. He was a drug dealer; was killed about a year and half ago."

"Oh; must have been painful."

Memories of seeing his brother's torso lying on the street came rushing back. "Yeah, especially for my mother." He was quiet for a moment.

Mrs. Benjamin spoke up. "You must have had a long day. I'll take you to your room."

After she had shown him his room, he immediately fell asleep; allowing dreams to overtake his body. Never had sleep felt so good.

_You doors and ascending steps! you arches!_

_You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!_

_From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,_

_From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me._

After eating his breakfast, he made his way back to I-95 and turned his car south and never strayed far from the highway for the next few days. Eventually he had made his way into the surf and sand that was Southern Florida.

The first morning he woke up in Southern Florida, he found the sun streaming into his motel room. It was hurting his eyes, but it was the first good sleep he had had in a few days, at least since when he had stopped in at Holly's parents' place a few days back.

Even though the bed was somewhat firm, firmer than his bed at his own place, it certainly was better than sleeping in his car for the few hours that he was able to do so each night that he spent as he made his way from Virginia to the beaches of Miami.

After taking a quick shower and getting changed, he went onto the small balcony that overlooked the street. The motel wasn't far from the beach and the beach could be seen not far from where he had chosen to hang his hat. He could see the numerous people heading down towards the beach along the sidewalks. They were in various states of dress.

Feeling a little hungry, he headed down to the lobby, where the hotel offered a continental breakfast. At least he wouldn't have to pay for one meal. He had already been offered to be a night watchman by owners of the motel and was considering taking it, at least for a couple of weeks.

It would give him some money to put into his bank account at home, not that he needed the money, but it would certainly make his trip a little more comfortable if he had a little extra.

As he stuffed in the piece of fruit into his mouth, he knew he should do it. It wouldn't be much: just looking for creepy individuals who appeared to be just hanging around the hotel. It would only be for a few hours each day, but with some great benefits, one of them being a reduction on the cost of his room.

For whatever reason, he had brought his chequebook along. He supposed it was a matter of security more than anything, but he knew that once he gave a voided cheque to couple that ran the small motel he would have some money in his bank account.

After giving his word to the owners and a voided cheque, he made his way to the beach to sit among the crowds that were starting to make their presence known. Tonight would be his first shift at a new job. Maybe it would take his mind off of things or maybe it wouldn't; he could only anticipate what adventures lay ahead of him.


	4. Chapter 4

I forgot to mention that I hadn't added a disclaimer to this story. Anyways, I don't own any of the characters in the story that have already been mentioned on the show nor do I own the words to Walt Whitman's lovely poem. I only own the characters that I have made up in this story. Enjoy and reviews are greatly appreciated.

_The earth expanding right hand and left hand,_

_The picture alive, every part in its best light,_

_The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,_

_The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road._

It had been a month since he had tasted the freedom of the open road, a month in which he had been able to get some money to help aid his trip. It was good month. He was able to use his skills again, but not that often. About half way through the month in Miami the itch had returned and wanted to get back on the road and starting exploring again.

As he drove up the western coast of Florida, he could see the Gulf of Mexico on his left hand side, dry land on his right. He loved every moment that he spent on the road. There was something to be said of freeing nature of his trip; he was becoming a different person. Faith had sensed it in his voice when he had phoned her the week before he left and she had told him so. His relaxed nature of his voice had come back, the easiness in which he and Faith talked returned. Hopefully it would be this way when he returned, but he wasn't going to get his hopes up.

As he drove Highway 19 that drove him north and west, he continued to wonder why he was taking the trip in the first place. He thought it was selfish that he would even consider taking such a trip, but he knew that he would regret not taking the trip if didn't do it. The regret would have haunted him for a long time and would have eaten at him.

Turning off at a rest stop that overlooked the Gulf, he grabbed his camera and ventured out to a point that he could get a good vantage point to get a decent photograph. He never had had a knack for taking photographs before the trip, but as the trip wore on, his photographs had gotten better. One email that he had received from Davis told him that they were damn good and maybe he should consider a career as a photographer.

Looking through his photographs on his laptop that night at a motel in Tallahassee, confirmed what Davis had told him. They were good; maybe he would put together a book of his photograph once he returned home. Would maybe end up being a Christmas present for a group of small people he knew, maybe with some description underneath them. Faith and Davis would appreciate them, look at them with careful consideration and thought.

Staring into the darkness of the room, he wondered if he should actually quit and become a photographer full time; maybe take crime scene photographs. No, he would miss being on the job too much; miss taking down a skel; miss the thrill of the chase; miss the New York air, as awful as it was. But if he could make it as a photographer, he could travel around the world and just roam around the world, not hanging his hat for too long in one place.

Right now, he wasn't going to be focused on what he was going to do when, and if, he got back home. Those sorts of decisions would be made later, when things were much clearer in his mind and more settled and when he was home.

His eyes gradually became heavier, until his eyes closed and he fell asleep, unaware of the world around him.

_O highway I travel, do you say to me _**Do not leave me?**

_Do you say_ **Venture not-if you leave me you are lost?**

_Do you say_** I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?**

One thing he had never encountered was that how long it was to drive places. Maps were entirely deceiving; never told one exactly how long it was till the next town or city, which is why he never really ventured far from the main highways. Yet at the same time, it was the venturing off the main highways that had afforded him the most insight into who he was and who he had become in the past two years.

Most of all he was afraid of what the road beyond the main highway would bring him; no telling what sorrow might upset him. He had prepared himself for the unexpected, to learn from the road itself. He continued to drive.

Feeling a bit hungry, he pulled off at the first rest stop he found that had some indication that there was food for him to partake of. He couldn't believe how tired he actually was; nobody had told him how tiring a long drive could be.

As he sat down at the table, all he wanted to do was to lay his head on the table and not think about anything else. Glancing at the menu that was placed in front of him, the words blurred together to the point where he couldn't make out what was written on the plastic menu. Never had he experienced the sort of exhaustion that he was now experiencing. He glanced at his watch and then at the clock on the wall. The time was different by an hour.

"What's the time?" He asked the waitress as she filled his coffee cup.

"Whatever it says on the wall."

"Oh." He vaguely remembered passing a sign telling him of the time change. He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was a little past 7, but his watch read that it was a little past 8. Whatever the time was, it was late and the road had started to get darker and his body was tired.

The waitress came back and took his order. He picked up the book he had purchased at a second hand bookstore back near his motel in Miami. Many days on the beach had rendered him useless and caused him to search out the small little area of Miami that he had stayed in. On of the things he had found was a small bookstore.

He couldn't remember why he had gone in, but perhaps he was looking for something for Faith or Emily, certainly not for himself, although he had ended up buying some stuff for himself as well.

Having never been a reader, he had surprised himself when he caught himself purchasing several books.

And it wasn't the typical guide book that he had been inclined to look at in the weeks before he left for his trip. It was an actual novel that he had purchased. Something with substance, something with depth, something that had meaning to him.

It was a second hand bookstore that was not far from the hotel and had started by purchasing what people considered to be "beach books" and devouring them almost as soon as he had purchased them.

It had been the day before he was to leave Miami and found a book that he had heard of back in that bar in Atlantic City. He had forgotten of the book until he saw the spine and remembered the book that the bartender had mentioned to him.

Now he was engrossed by the adventures of Sal, Dean and the various people they encountered along the road.

Putting the book down was harder than he ever thought it would ever be, but somehow he did. Looked out the window, he could see the darkness that had encroached several hours ago. He was feeling weather-beaten, not only from the road, but also from the events of the last few years. He could see his reflection in the darkened window. The scar had faded a little bit more and was less noticeable than it had been when the 5-5 had been destroyed, well at least the one that he had known.

_O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,_

_You express me better than I can express myself,_

_You shall be more to me than my poem._

The room he was in was fairly simple, but he didn't mind. It was only going to be one night; at least he hoped that it would be. The waitress who had served him had offered him a job as a short order cook. He hadn't any real experience as one for quite some time as the last time he had done anything for anyone other than himself, and even that was very rare, was back when he was in the Army. He had hated it; nothing exciting happened in Mess except when somebody burnt the toast for breakfast, and usually that was him.

His real talents didn't really lie in cooking, but he remembered how this trip was about trying new things. Lying in bed awake that night, he wondered what everybody was up to. Faith was probably working another case, wondering if she would every find a clue as to what was going on and if she would ever find the perp. Davis was probably working with Finney on the Anti-Crime Unit they had been assigned to. Sully was probably up in his cabin wondering when the cold snap would end and when he could go out and fish. Swersky was probably up to his neck in paperwork. Sasha was probably working some sort of detail in the mayor's office.

It was weird how everybody else had, in a sense, moved on with their lives, yet his life seemed to be stuck in a rut, not really going anywhere. He wasn't going to move up in the department or move up into another area that would give him what he craved: freedom. But this trip in a way was giving his ambitions for freedom wake-up call. It was in a strange but wonderful way expressing who he was, who he had become, and where he would go. This was trip that was going to define him; make a man out of him. Well, it would show them that he was a man and could face the responsibilities of a man. If it wouldn't show them, at least the perception would be there.

He continued staring at the darkened ceiling, wondering if being a beat cop was what he was really meant to do in life. He had tried to get into ESU and had been unable to do so. He had had a go around in ACU for a while and had enjoyed it, but circumstances dictated that he was unable to live with, namely Cruz's inability to what was right in the eyes of the law. The fact that Noble had gotten away with murder made him seriously reconsider ACU. His conscious was to be thanked for that, as he didn't know how he could have lived with that. Noble had been a thug and a murderer, getting away with stuff he wouldn't want his brother to get away with.

But he supposed this trip was to show him and others that he was more than a cop who patrolled the streets of New York on a daily basis. Life was more complicated than locking the usual skel who wanted to make a huge deal out of getting their chops busted.

He could feel his body gradually falling asleep, the weight on his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. There was nothing but sleep preventing him from going back out exploring some more. Tallahassee wasn't exactly speaking to him, so to speak. There wasn't anything that was going to keep him here.

_I think heroic deeds were all conveiv'd in the open air, and all free poems also,_

_I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,_

_I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,_

_I think whoever I see must be happy._

It was a bright and early morning and a large cup of coffee that greeted the open road once again. The coffee was hot and bad, just like he liked it. The road was basically empty and by the time he decided to grab something for breakfast, he was already halfway across the Florida panhandle. He really wanted to end up in Pensacola by nightfall, if not into Alabama by nightfall.

Veering off the road to a small diner that he had just noticed up ahead, he parked in front of the diner and turned off the engine and just sat in the car for a moment, wondering why he had just decided to do what he had done. There really was no reason for him to do what he had done, but he knew that he had done it for the right reasons. Taking in a deep sigh, he got out of the car and moved towards the diner and sat down in one of the various booths that lined the windows. He could have sat at one of the stools, but for some reason he needed to look outside, despite the grayness of the sky outside.

There weren't a lot of customers in the diner; it was only him and another customer and the waitress that had taken his order and the cook who was going fire up that meal. They had probably been open for a few hours before when came by and served the truckers when they had come through.

Staring out at the road that he had come off of, he could see that the traffic just beyond, people making their way to whatever they were going to. There wasn't exactly a lot of traffic and he wasn't in a huge rush. He had another two months to get back before the department had his hide.

"You goin' somewhere?" the waitress asked as she set down his breakfast in front of him.

He moved his head from the window to where the waitress stood. "What?"

"I asked you if you were goin' somewhere?"

He shook his head. "Nowhere in particular." He took a sip of coffee.

"Y'all from around here?"

"Nope." She just continued to stand there as though she had nothing else to do. Clearly she didn't cause the other customer had already left and he was the only one there.

"So where are you from?"

"New York."

"Now that wouldn't be New York City?" She was getting on his nerves.

"Born and bred."

"What do you do, if you mind me askin'?"

Of course he minded. "I'm a cop."

She sat down in the seat across from him. "You mean to tell me that a handsome fella like you is a cop and not gracing the cover of _People_ magazine?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment and looked at the woman sitting across from him. She appeared to be about his ma's age, the lines on her face clearly told how old she appeared to be, but circumstances could have aged the waitress much more than she really was.

"Your mama must be mighty proud."

"Yeah, she is."

"I imagine your daddy is too."

He grew silent, not really wanting to answer with a comment.

"You don't get along with your dad all that well, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Well, not every man is made out to be a daddy."

"You can say that again."

"You like being a cop?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do."

She just sat there, all quiet. "My husband was a cop; long time ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah." There was a small smile on her face, as though she were pleased about something or other. "Died on the job." She let out a small sigh. "I miss him."

"I imagine you do." He scraped the last of his breakfast.

"You have any siblings?"

"One; a brother." It was hard to imagine now Mikey as a sibling, but Mikey would forever be his brother, dead or alive.

"What does he do? I imagine he is cop, too. Must have your mother in a tizzy."

"Uh, my brother ran from the cops whenever he would spot one."

The waitress' brows furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"My brother was a drug dealer, but he tried to turn his life around."

"What do you mean by that?"

He swallowed and was quiet for a moment. "My brother's dead."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment. "If I may ask, how did he die?"

If anything, she was extremely nosy, just like his mother. "He was dismembered; we still haven't found his head and we probably won't ever find it." A tinge of sadness was in his voice, as a tear made its way down his face.

"Oh. What happened to your face?" She had noticed the spider web scar on his face, which was partially hidden by the bandage.

"I got shot."

"How?" The woman was anything but helpful, but it was nice to talk to somebody else about what had happened.

He breathed out a sigh before he continued. "Do you want the whole story or just the short version?"

"The whole story."

"How much time you have?"

She looked around the resturant; there wasn't anybody else in the resturant besides the customer that she was now talking to. He appeared to be a similar age to her son who was now stationed halfway around the world. "All the time in the world."

He cleared his throat. "It's really hard to say where to begin because there are so many ways to tell it."

"Maybe I can help. What did your brother do to end up in the fashion that he did?"

"He was dealing ecstasy. I thought he had finally beat the whole business of dealing, but he proved me wrong when he and a guy named Spider were stopped by some cops I worked with. When I found out, I tried to get him to turn himself in to the police, which he ended up doing. Then my dad hired this sleaze ball of a lawyer, Lester Martin, who got Mikey turned loose on a technicality. As a result, Mikey got killed because he was perceived as being a threat and ended up on the side of a street in some garbage. When I had to tell my mom the news, I can't tell you how hard that was."

He looked in the waitress' eyes and for the first time saw true sympathy in almost a year and half since he had woken up from his coma.

"I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to do such a thing. I remember how I felt when one of my husband's colleagues came to tell me that he had been killed. All I remember was that it was blur of words and the only thing I seem to hear that he was dead. I can't imagine what your mother went through."

"Yeah, she went through a lot in such a short time."

"What do you mean by that?"

He took a deep breath. "While we were at my brother's wake, a car with a bomb inside of it was driven into the building and my ma was injured. She had a broken arm and couldn't breathe properly. While my colleagues and I were waiting for news of her, a couple of masked gunman came and shot at us. I shielded my partner, only to get injured severely myself."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine; she's now a detective."

"You had a female partner?"

"Yeah, we met our first day at the academy and sort of have had each other's back ever since. But she's moved on and kinda left me behind."

He looked up at the waitress, expecting some sort of answer. They were quiet for a few moments. "I am sure she appreciates that."

"I don't know; she hasn't told me as such."

"But surely she must. I mean, not just anyone would do that for one's partner."

"I guess not."

"She probably thinks you are a hero, along with your other colleagues."

He just shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't anything; I was just doing my job."

She furrowed her brows. "How can it be anything but heroic? I am sure her husband and children appreciate what you did for them."

"I don't think her husband gives a shit that she's alive."

"What makes you say that?"

"Her _husband_, as you put it, apparently gave her divorce papers in the precinct house and basically forced her to take the detective's promotion. She almost lost custody of her oldest and lost custody of her youngest."

The waitress became quiet. "Oh. You want some more coffee?" Bosco nodded and she grabbed a hot pot of coffee and refilled his cup.

Bosco took a sip of the hot liquid. "He was a jag-off anyways. He didn't deserve her anyways."

"You love her, don't you?"

Bosco was mystified. "No, I don't. If you knew what she did after I got out of the hospital, you wouldn't think that I love her."

She outlined the design that was on the table with her fingers, not paying attention to the younger man's expressions. "You love her."

"How do you know?"

She looked up and looked him square in the face. "Oh, let's just say experience tells me that you do. My son was exactly the same when he met his wife a few years back."

"You have a son?"

"Mhmm. He's stationed in Iraq right now. Can't wait until he comes home, whenever that is."

"What branch? I served in the Rangers almost 10 years ago, went to Iraq during Desert Storm." His natural curiosity peaked when he found out that he had something in common with her in a place so far away from home.

"He's in the Marines; stationed somewhere."

"Move him around a lot?"

"Yeah, but it's what he loves and I support him. Did your mother support you going into the Rangers?"

"Yeah, not at first though. She wanted me to do something else, something other than go into the military. But it was my only option if I wanted to become a cop, not that it was alright with her."

"She doesn't like your profession?"

"I think she would like me to be something safe, like an accountant or something, not that it could also be dangerous at times."

"Well, us mothers love to have our children safe, sort of put them in a protective bubble and make sure that they don't get hurt. I can understand your mother, understand what she feels like day in and day out, especially what you have endured."

"My partner said the same thing a few years back."

The waitress chuckled. "Your partner is a smart woman."

"Yeah, she is; smarter than me, that's for sure."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"What do you mean by that?"

She swallowed. "There's all kinds of smarts, not just book smarts, I should know."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I guess." He glanced at his watch. It was almost 10 and he needed to get going if he wanted to get out of the state by nightfall and he wasn't going to do so if he just sat here and talked.

"You need to go, don't you?"

"I guess; I mean I don't have to be anywhere immediately, but it would be nice to get going again." He wiped his mouth with the small paper napkin. "Thanks for the talk; I really appreciated it." He flashed her a smile.

"Well, you be safe, I am sure your mother wouldn't want you dead."

He could only just nod. He reached for his billfold and grabbed a bunch of bills, hoping it would cover the cost of the meal, as well as a substantial tip.

"It's on the house, Officer." She said as she cleared the dishes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She appeared to be having a rough go of it and Bosco wanted to help in anyway possible.

"Okay." He was going to leave the money anyways, but before he did he had one question to ask. "What's your name?" He knew what her name was with the small tag that adorned her outfit.

"Uh, Elizabeth, but people around these parts call me Lizzy or Liz."

He sat down again, patting down his jacket, looking for a pen and an envelope, not able to find either. " Um, do you have a pen and paper that I could use?"

"Yeah, I do." She reached to the shelves below the cash register and gave him a clean pad of paper and a pen. Sitting down in the booth, he wrote her a note and left the money that he had intended to pay for his meal, along with his card, if she ever wanted to thank him or repay the favour or whatever the hell she choose to do. He left the diner, probably never to return, hopefully putting a spring in her step.

She thought she had cleared the table the young officer had been sitting at when she had noticed the paper just sitting there on top of the table. Taking it, she noticed a small white card with the name _Officer Maurice Boscorelli, NYPD, Patrol Unit_, along with some contact numbers near the bottom. She also noticed a pile of cash that was sitting inside of it. Taking the cash from inside the folded piece of paper along with the card, she unfolded the piece of piece of paper.

_Liz,_

_Thanks for the talk today. I can't tell you what the last couple of hours have meant to me; you helped clear some things that needed to be cleared and helped me to express what I am feeling beneath everything I am trying to hide._

_I want you to accept this money as an appreciation of what you did and I am sorry for what happened to your husband and I hope this money can help pay some bills or allow you to do something nice for yourself for once._

_I am no good with words, which was always my partner's bag. If you want to contact me at any point, I have included my card._

_Once again, thanks._

_Sincerely,_

_Maurice Boscorelli_

_NYPD_

A small tear came down her face and prayed a silent prayer for that officer that had she had met today, hoping that he would find whatever peace he could find before he got home and that he would have a safe journey home, wherever that might be.

A loud ring came across the diner and she looked up. A customer had come through the door and sat down. Placing the note, the money and the small white card in her apron, she reached in for her own pen and paper and grabbed a few menus. She needed to get back to work and not focus on the young man who acted so much like her own son for the time being, maybe she would phone the numbers later when she got a chance when things got quiet again.


	5. Chapter 5

I know I posted the other four chapters a few days ago, but I felt I needed to get this chapter up before I totally forgot about it. I don't know when I will update this story, as I am currently writing in a huge project over on forum with some other Third Watch fans and don't know when I will update this story. Trust me I will update, eventually.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, except where I have made up to make the story along, nor do I own the words that are in italics, they belong to Walt Whitman.

Enjoy and review

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_From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,_

_Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,_

_Listening to others, considering what they say,_

_Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,_

_Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me._

It had been several days since he had stopped at the diner in western Florida, but some strange reason, he still thought about the waitress whom he had met. She was the one person in a long time that he had opened himself up to, other than somebody at work. In fact, he couldn't remember anybody but a colleague over the past few years, besides his mother, that he had opened up to, Faith being the only one that he only did such a thing, especially in the last few years.

The warm air that came off the Gulf invaded his senses; made him want to pack up and leave New York behind and move somewhere where winter didn't exist, where there was nothing but warm and sunshine and good feelings inside, but he knew that he would only be running; running from a past that would only come up to bite him in the butt someday.

But most of all he wanted to be divested of the turmoil that had been haunting him ever since Faith's ex-husband had his heart attack a few years and he had hooked up with Anti-Crime and Maritza Cruz. He honestly wished he had listened to Faith a little more when they had gone after that writer guy as intensely as they had. But that was the past and nothing could be done about the past, not really.

He looked across the water. It had almost an intrinsic beauty to it, something almost haunting, as though it wasn't going to reveal all its secrets quite yet. The park was rather deserted; any notion of people near by didn't exist. It was hard to believe that a massive hurricane had come through the area, but the lack of houses and people and the amount of destruction that he had seen as he drove through the small town, it was plain to see that there had been something destructive come through just like the bandage that indicated the fact that something had happened to him.

It was like a ghost town, a shell of its former self. Allowing the warm gulf breeze to gently push itself across his skin, he wondered what his life would have been like had things in his childhood been differently. Would he have the understanding he was able to bring to the job? Would have he wanted be a cop? Would his relationship with the man whom they called his father be any different? Did he really want to divest himself of his life in New York for one here, a place where he knew not a single sole?

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking; thinking that if his life had been different he would have had more opportunities. But opportunities to do what? Sit behind a desk for most of his life, wondering if he would have made more of a difference doing something like he did know? He couldn't imagine himself sitting behind desk, taking orders, doing mundane work for five days a week, making barely a difference in the world.

A child's glee could be heard across the park. He turned to see a small girl, with what appeared to be either her mother or a nanny, being pushed on the swing set. She looked so innocent, so carefree of what the world would expect of her. Hopefully her childhood was far happier than his had ever been.

He let out a sigh, realizing that he couldn't let the past determine where he went; it would only hinder him, forcing him to lug around a ball and chain for the rest of his life. He knew his past shouldn't hinder him from moving forward, but some reason it was.

_I inhale great draughts of space,_

_The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine._

He loved the smell of the salt air; made his lungs feel refreshed, made him feel like he existed. He couldn't believe how fresh the air felt, especially when one placed it in contrast to the scent that the city often brought with it.

Looking at the still water, lapping against the beach, he couldn't believe how still that it was; how peaceful it made him feel. If only he could feel like this all the time, not feel so anxious that something bad would happen. He wanted to feel as though he mattered, that his opinions mattered.

He didn't need to fixate on how Faith had treated him and was continuing to do so. This was his trip; he had to come to terms with himself and who he was and not think of what others had done in the past. He needed to claim every corner of the country for him and him alone. Hell, he needed to claim his life as his own again and to be so burdened by what other's expected of him or what he expected of himself at times.

He knew he expected too much of himself, that he pushed himself to be better than he actually was, pushed himself into situations that he shouldn't have gotten into, but at the time it seemed so innocent and for the most part he really didn't care what the consequences might end up being. He loved his job and didn't know what he would do if there was nothing else for him.

He wanted encompass every space he came upon; leave his mark on it somehow. But he didn't know how he should go about it or what he could leave his mark upon. He had his job, but that was it. He didn't have a family that would leave it's own imprint on his life or on the life of others.

He thought about how much that dream had so far been dashed; he had wanted to have a little girl like the one that was playing on the swing, laughing as her golden curls flew in her eyes, as she flew into the setting sun. It was gorgeous picture, if only it was something that seemed obtainable for a moment.

_I am larger, better than I thought,_

_I did not know I held so much goodness._

Faith was the first person beside his mom that had made him feel like he mattered, even if it were a small little bit, that he was a good man. But he really didn't deserve it; deserve all the compliments that she lavished on him at one time or another.

Even when he felt crappy about himself, she managed to say something nice, or at least she tried. She was a good friend, but he didn't know if he saw her differently. Maybe there was something more with her, maybe there wasn't; he honestly didn't know. He wanted her tell him or do something that would confirm what he should

He felt a small tug on his jeans and looked down. The girl that had been flying high on the swings was at his leg, trying to get his attention.

She was cute; her light pink jacket had dirt stains streaked across it, her small little jeans had grass stains on them, her small hands dirty. Her mother would be after her, wondering why she was bothering such a strange man. She was a lot like he imagined his daughter to be like. She had her small, grubby hand extended; a yellow dandelion clutched in her hand. He had little experience with small children; Emily and Charlie being the only experience he had as an adult.

A woman's voice could be heard in the distance calling a name.

"Is that for me?" He asked the small girl before him.

She nodded; her blond curls bobbing up and down. Her mother would be worried, that much he knew.

"What's your name?" He asked as he took the sticky dandelion from her small, grubby hands. He hoped that whoever this child belonged to that they would be looking for her; he had seen enough children lost and wandering the streets of New York in his career as a cop that he hated to see a child just wandering about.

"Georgia," he caught her small voice say.

He bent down to her level. "Do you know where your mommy is?"

The child remained motionless and silent, almost as if she were afraid. Clearly she didn't know what to do and the best thing would be to look for the child's mom or guardian or whomever had brought her to the park.

"How about we go and look for your mommy, okay?" He said as he picked up the child and placed him in her arms. She squirmed, nodding, clearly slightly uncomfortable at his touch, but just as easily she got comfortable in his arms as them walked in the park, hoping to find somebody that looked familiar to her.

His arms got tired from carrying her around for so long and held her small hand inside of his. He had never experienced such unconditional love from a complete stranger; kids were like that he supposed, trusting almost to a fault. At least he knew that she would be okay with him.

His ears perked up when he heard Georgia's name being called by a female voice; concern clearly edged in the tone of the voice. He started to move in the direction of the voice, hoping that he wouldn't have to take into a local police station and have her placed with a foster family until she was picked up.

"Ma'am?" He asked a female who looked slightly frazzled.

"Yes?" She turned around to face him. "Georgia."

"So this is your daughter?"

"Yes; thank you so much, sir. She just went off and I didn't know where she had gone. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she appears so; maybe a little startled," he said as the three of them started to move towards the parking lot. "She 's not as bad as some kids that I have seen on the street."

They were silent as they approached a gleaming SUV and as the mom opened the door and picked up Georgia and placed her in the car seat. "What do you do?" The woman was curious to what would make the man that had brought back her daughter say such a thing. "I hope you don't mind me asking."

"None at all; I'm a cop in New York City." He got out his badge and showed her that he really was a cop. He noticed the rings on her ring finger; she was married.

She nodded. "You want to join us for dinner? My husband would love to meet you; he loves anything to do with New York and cops; watches almost every show on television that there is to do with that particular topic."

"You sure about that; cause I don't want to be an inconvince to anybody."

She closed the car door. "We would love to have some company; ever since the hurricane this past September we haven't had any company, say for maybe a few neighbours and family who didn't have any place to go. For some reason our house had minimal damage to it and we could take in people. We were lucky."

He said yes and followed the young mother and her small daughter to their home on the edge of the town that had been virtually flattened or destroyed. He didn't know why they hadn't moved out; he sure as hell would have left. He really didn't want to impose on such a young family or somebody who clearly was struggling to get by, but he couldn't complain for what he received. His mother, the wise woman that she was, told him never look a gift horse in the mouth.

_All seems beautiful to me,_

_I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,_

_I will recruit for myself and you as I go,_

_I will scatter myself among the men and women as I go,_

_I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,_

_Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,_

_Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me._

Even though they were a few miles inland from the shore, he could certainly see the devastation and how some homes were severely hit, while others were left standing as though nothing had happened. But it was like nobody lived here any longer; it was eerie driving down a street that had once been occupied by families that were hard working people who did nothing really bad except live in a hurricane zone. The houses were void of any sort of life in them.

He saw the SUV pull into a driveway next to another vehicle and parked his car along the street. The house appeared to be in good shape, at least from the outside; appearances could be deceiving, as he could attest to.

Letting out a sigh, he got out of his car and locked, not sure why he did it, but he supposed it was out of habit. Children's toys littered the front lawn; clearly Georgia had been busy playing. The mom and her small daughter made their way to the front door, where a man opened up the door to let them in.

Bosco just stayed to the side, not quite sure what to do next.

"Come on in; Tom doesn't bite, trust me."

Bosco made his way into the house; cleaning wasn't a priority for the young mother, as he took off his jacket and hung it up on a hanger.

"Sorry, I'm being a poor hostess; I haven't even introduced myself and I didn't even hang up your jacket. Having two young children underfoot doesn't exactly lend it to a clean household. By the way I am Nancy."

"Maurice Boscorelli."

"Well, make yourself at home, Mr. Boscorelli…"

"Just call me Bosco."

"Okay then; well, I need to clean up Georgia; seems she gets in the dirt more often than not. I need to get…"

She was clearly frazzled and had too many things on her mind. "Do you need me to do anything?" He could see the frustration on her face; Faith had that look on her face more often than not. "Where's your husband?"

She let out a sigh. "Oh, Tom. He's doing what he usually does when I come home: disappears into the den with a beer to watch some sports. Clearly thinks that it's my job to clean, cook and take care of the kids, but he sometimes helps out."

He knew the sort of man that Tom was like and he didn't like the image he got as a result. Fred Yokas provided an excellent image for what Nancy's husband was like. Nancy moved towards the kitchen and grabbed a clean rag and wet it down. "Actually you can go and wake up Jackson and bring him in here, while I clean my daughter's hands and face."

He went down the small hallway and peaked in the closest door, flipping on the light, only to see castles and pink on the walls. This clearly wasn't Jackson's room and moved to the door next to it and opened it up. A small lamp was on and he moved gingerly towards the crib and peered down and saw a sleeping child. He hadn't had much experience with infants, but from what he knew, he gingerly placed the infant in his arms and moved towards the kitchen. He didn't know why a man such as Tom wouldn't take an interest in his own children, he certainly would.

"So where can I put him?" He asked as he entered the kitchen.

"You can put him in the playpen."

He gingerly put the child in the playpen and sat down and looked on as the child played with a bunch of toys that had been placed in there. He just wondered if he would ever get the chance to be a dad, to correct the mistakes that his own father had made.

"You okay?" She got down some dishes from the cupboard.

He got up from his chair and moved towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm fine." He leaned against the counter and let out a sigh.

"So have you been married? I noticed you didn't have a wedding ring; sorry I couldn't help but notice earlier."

"That's okay. I haven't been married."

She stirred whatever was in the pot and replaced the lid. "Have a girlfriend then?" She was certainly was nosy enough.

"Nope; last one I had blew herself up a few months ago."

"You close?"

He let out a sigh. "Things happened that made me question as to why I even considered going out with her in the first place."

"Surely she wasn't that bad. No, Georgia, you remember you can't have a cookie before dinner."

Bosco stayed off to the side. "She was; made me do things I wouldn't have normally done."

"Like what?" She placed Georgia on her hip as she took the cookie out of her daughter's hands.

Where would he begin; there was too much for him to explain the entire story. "I, um, made sure a CI get away with murder."

Nancy looked a bit shocked at his answer. "But it didn't get worse than that?"

"Yeah, it did." He could remember what the hotel room after Cruz had shot Faith and him Noble. It was a scene of confusion that he never wanted to repeat, ever. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Nancy sighed. "Well, dinner is ready; just have to set the table and call Tom."

"I'll set the table," he said as he moved towards the dishes that been resting on the counter. He knew that he probably that he shouldn't do something like this, but he needed to occupy his mind; something to take his mind off of Faith and everything else that had gone wrong in his life.

After setting the table, he went over and picked up Nancy and Tom's infant son and secured him in the high chair that was beside the table. It was all so normal looking, as everybody dug into the meal that had been prepared for them.

Sure he was good, but he wasn't that good, at least that is what he thought. Faith would tell him differently.


End file.
